‘Certainly not!' said Vanessa. 'And if there are, you're not allowed to wear them. Why should an attractive girl like you want to disappear?'

‘Well…' Elsa began, knowing she didn't really have an answer.

Seeing her discomfort, Hilary moved on. 'Vanessa can wear that very strong colour because it's geranium, not pillar-box red.' She made a face. 'I expect you think I'm mad making those small distinctions.'

‘No,' said Elsa, her attention finally caught. 'I know exactly what you mean. I deal with that sort of difference all the time.' She sat up in her chair, suddenly a great deal more engaged in the whole process.

‘I know what you mean too,' said Bron. 'When you're getting the right hair colour, just a shade one way or the other can be fatal! It can be twenty years on or off!' She paused. 'Sasha is rubbish at it.’

Hilary glanced at her. 'OK, Elsa, now wait there while we try a few things.'

‘When we've got your colours sorted,' said Vanessa, 'we're going to talk about style. It's a crying shame that someone who makes such lovely garments wears tatty black trousers all the time.'

‘But these are my best trousers!' protested Elsa.

‘Why don't you go and pick out some nice jewellery,' said Hilary to Vanessa, who obediently took herself off to the other side of the room.

‘Gold and silver. Everyone can wear either, you know.' Hilary turned to Elsa. 'But you have to understand what they do for you. Then, if you're good, you can try on the hats. And there are some wigs in the second drawer down.'

‘Can I stay if I promise not to say anything?' asked Bron softly.

Elsa nodded. 'As long as you tell me what on earth happened at the salon when you went in this morning.’

‘But not now,' said Hilary firmly. 'We're here to work.’

She picked up a swatch of fabric and laid it on Elsa's shoulder. 'What do you think?’

Elsa looked at it. 'I like that.' She did.

‘Good, so do I,' said Hilary. 'What about this?’

Colour after colour was laid on Elsa's shoulder. Then the colours were layered, one on top of each other. Some combinations looked terrible, others brought Elsa's face to life. She was paying attention – and to her horror and surprise she was having fun. She realised that she didn't need to fight it any more. Perhaps there was more to this colours lark than she'd thought.

`Do put some make-up on her,' said Vanessa, who arrived at Elsa's side garlanded with necklaces, belts and chains. 'I'm just dying to see those eyes look even bigger. She's a potential mankiller, you know,' she said to Bron. 'Laurence, the best man at the wedding, is mad for her.’

Elsa laughed. 'No he's not! He just wants someone to go to a ball with him.'

‘Same thing, darling, trust me, I know.' Vanessa held an earring up to her ear. 'Too much of a chandelier? I love big earrings.'

‘But I've only ever seen you in close-fitting ones,' said Elsa, forgetting to be shy.

Vanessa shrugged. 'I know. I do have to restrain myself a bit. But these are heaven!'

‘Go away and play, Vanessa,' said Hilary, 'I haven't finished with Elsa yet. So, Elsa, what sort of make-up do you usually wear?'

‘Um, not much. The usual. Bit of mascara, lip-gloss. I have got some eye-shadow somewhere.'

‘Colour?'

‘Brown.’

Hilary shook her head. 'Do you want to look as if you've been in a fight or haven't slept for three days? No, don't answer, you're not allowed to say yes.' She looked enquiringly at Elsa. 'But at least you didn't say you match your eye-shadow to what you're wearing.'

‘If brown makes her look rough, what would black do?' said Bron, teasingly.

Hilary ignored this. 'Can I do your make-up?'

‘Do say yes,' said Bron. 'This is so interesting.’

Elsa sighed. 'Might as well, I suppose.' She remembered how Bron had made her look at the wedding; she wouldn't let Hilary do anything too outlandish.

Twenty minutes later the white gown was whisked away and Elsa was revealed. 'Oh my God, I never knew I could look like that! It's amazing!' She suddenly felt that with her new haircut, beautifully made-up and dressed in one of her creations she might just possibly be ready to go to the ball.

‘I've made a note of everything I used-' Hilary began.

‘We'll have one of everything,' said Vanessa, currently wearing a long platinum wig and a Stetson-style hat. 'I don't trust Elsa to buy it for herself. I may have to take her shopping one day soon.'

‘Or I could,' said Bron. 'Please don't be offended but I probably know shops more suited to Elsa's budget.' Nobly, Bron was leaping in to prevent Elsa being dragged off to Harrods where either she would only be able to buy a pair of knickers, or Vanessa would insist on paying. She knew Elsa would absolutely hate that.

‘Much better idea,' said Vanessa. 'I always come away with the wrong size when I go to Primark.’

If Vanessa was pleased with the effect this revelation had on her audience, she didn't allow it to show.

Sarah had picked up the phone without thinking. It was eleven o'clock on Monday morning and she'd been on the go since seven-thirty. One minute after nine she'd hit the phones. With luck, this was someone coming back with some positive news.

Hugo's drawl startled her so much she nearly dropped the phone. Coincidentally, she'd caught sight of his name as she went through her address book for possible kitchens for Bron to make Carrie's cake in and hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.

‘I want you to come out with me for a day,' he said, unaware that Sarah had broken into a light sweat of panic. 'To look at a venue,' he added.

Sarah cleared her throat. 'For Carrie?'

‘Uh huh. The one I mentioned before. It could be perfect.’

Back under control now, Sarah was brisk. 'Has it got the clipped yews, the manicured grass, the ancient gravestones – preferably with lichen – and the lych-gate?' Sarah knew the answer would be no, or even if it were yes, the venue wouldn't be available on the day.

He laughed. 'No. It's a private house, with a chapel. It doesn't tick all those boxes but it's really original and I think Carrie will love it. Even if she doesn't, I still think you should have a look.’

Sarah was about to refuse – her sense of self-preservation on full alert – but a private chapel might be the very thing.

It wouldn't be the same as a traditional country church, but it could be just as appealing.

‘You must see it, Sarah,' said Hugo, suddenly a great deal less drawly. 'Even if it's not right for Carrie you need to meet the people. They're not at all sure about the whole wedding thing but if they met you, you could reassure them and probably use them in the future. It would be a really exclusive location for your top clients.’

Sarah felt she couldn't miss this opportunity and accepted, albeit a little reluctantly. 'When were you thinking of going?'

‘In about half an hour. Come on, you need to get out of the office sometimes.’

Sarah was desperately torn. The thought of driving out into the country with Hugo was tempting if unsettling. She suddenly longed to get out. Her ear was scarlet from being pressed to the phone and she was tired of being polite to people. If she went with Hugo she could be rude if she felt like it – he wouldn't mind, he was used to it. She would just have to hope he wasn't too nice to her. That would be much more difficult.

On the other hand she had so much to do. She'd actually wondered earlier if she needed an assistant, if only to keep control of the paper that so covered her desk she had no space for her coffee mug.

‘No one's indispensable,' Hugo went on. 'It's vanity to suppose otherwise.' While Sarah was working this out he went on, 'Pick you up at half eleven, then. It'll just give us time to get there for lunch.’